


The Story Surrounding Us

by deletingpoint



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, I Tried, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 12:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12582180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deletingpoint/pseuds/deletingpoint
Summary: written for the Gotham Buddy exchange





	The Story Surrounding Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ORiley42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ORiley42/gifts).



> hope it conveys the feeling, i honestly don't even know how many times i rewrote it :)
> 
> Jill Tracy - Haunted by the Thought of You

 

Click-clack-click-clack. The heels clicking on manor floors, traveling, echoing from room to room to Oswald’s study. He swirls a pen between fingers, waiting for the inevitable knock on the closed door. Three rapid bangs and the door creaks open, hinges sighing when the woman hesitantly steps in.

“Mister Oswald Cobblepot? Of Penguin Investigations?” she adjusts her dark-framed glasses and tucks away a loose strand of red hair.

Oswald scoffs. “Says so on the door,” he throws the pen on the table.

“Oh. Right. Sorry, I’m just a little out of it I guess,” she laughs for a second.

“Are you here to chit-chat or do you have a purpose, miss..?”

“Kristen Kringle. Yes, I do think I need your help.”

There’s silence and Oswald impatiently gestures her to move on.

“My fiancee, he’s gone missing,” she steps closer and takes a seat at the other side of the table.

“And you have reason to suspect foul play?”

“I, I know it’s ridiculous, since Tom left me a letter, saying he was leaving and honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him, it just that, well, something about the note seems odd, if you get what I mean.”

“No, I don’t _get_ what you mean, miss Kringle, the note?” what is it with people stalling about getting to business?

“Yes, of course,” she slides out a piece of paper.

 

“And this doesn’t sound like him? I fail to see the problem here?”

“It’s, it might be it’s my imagination, but the first letters, they, they spell a name of a man I know,” her voice turns to whisper and she leans into Oswald’s space. He snaps the letter from her and backs into his chair.

“N-Y-G-M-A? Nygma? What the hell kind of name is that?”

“Edward Nygma, we work together, at the Sirens club.”

“Ugh. So you want me to check him out, find this Dougherty and get your fairytale ending, that it?”

“I, is it, am I overreacting about this?”

“This Nygma guy, he and Dougherty got along?”

“Not at all. Ed didn’t like the way Tom was treating me, I suppose.”

“Uh-huh, did you have something on the side with this Ed?”

“What, no! He, he is nice, but the riddles, god, the riddles. He’s always telling them, it’s starting to drive me crazy!”

“Well, I can’t stand riddles myself, what a waste of time. Alright, I’ll come by the club tomorrow night, see what’s going on.”

“Thank you, mister Cobblepot,” she reaches out a hand, but pulls it back, seeing that Oswald has no intention to shake it.

“I’ll keep the note for now,” Oswald waves her away and after a hesitant breath she rises and the clacking of her heels dims through the empty house.

 

*

 

“Boss, you need me in here?” Zsasz checks the doorway to the Sirens and tilts his head, signaling the path is clear.

“Not right now, you can go do whatever it is that you do when I’m not around. Don’t disappear!” he leans on a bar stool and takes in the lounge. Hasn’t been here for a while. The mystic fog curls upon the stage, slow quiet music swirls off the walls, signaling an act is about to start.

“Ozzie! Haven’t seen you for a while, what brings you to this part of the town?” Of course it’s Barbara shoving her nose where it doesn’t belong, blowing him an air kiss.

“None of your business.”

“Now, is that a way to talk to the owner of this fine establishment? Ozzie, I never thought you could be this rude,” she doesn’t let herself be thrown off.

“Barbara, dear, why don’t you ask that from your partner.”

“Tabby’s not here. I’m bored and you look like a man on a mission.”

Oswald regrets briefly sending Victor away, closes his eyes to not just lash out on her and presses out: “You’d do better for yourself if you didn’t _anger_ me,” he spits out.

Barbara rolls her eyes and raises hands in surrender. “Suit yourself, I can see when I’m not wanted. Enjoy the show of the elusive Isabella!” she winks and disappears into the ground.

 

Oswald creaks his neck and relaxes a bit. On the far side of the stage a figure sits behind a piano. The foggy air around him takes a hint of green as his fingers start dancing on the keys, the silhouette slim and nimble, the music tingling on the skin, wrapping prickling needles around Oswald. He can’t make out the man’s face, just the lines of the body moving in the rhythm of music. Then the stage lights in silver as the woman starts singing. He can’t make out the words, though they’re not disturbing the music, all his attention is on the piano.

 

_I revel in this nightmare, but I keep waking up too soon…. Over and over again I keep imagining…_

 

Finally, as the song is about to end Oswald glances at the singer. The fog has disappeared from around her, she closes her eyes at the final note, golden hair giving her a halo. As she opens her eyes again Oswald realizes it’s the same woman. Kristen Kringle, Isabella being probably her stage name. The piano still continues playing silently in the distance, the music lurking away now.

The man wears a shining green suit, ridiculous color really, and has glasses. He keeps his eyes on the singer and gestures at her as the song ends. The magical atmosphere explodes and there are people around the room, applauding. Oswald feels slightly out of place, gripping the table harder and limps towards the stage. The man stands up and turns to the audience, his delighted grin filling most of his face as their eyes meet. He gives a little wave and approaches Oswald. Tall.

“Mister Penguin, it is so great to meet you.”

“What?” is all Oswald can get out. How does this unimpressive man even know his name? No, it’s not even his name!

“Big fan. Isn’t she amazing?” his attention is back on the stage where Isabella, Kristen, is blowing kisses. The man catches one. “Full of honey as I leave, melted to empty as I arrive, what am I?”

“What?” seems to be his go-to-word.

“Air kiss. Do you like riddles?”

Ah, this must be the riddle guy. Ed Nygma. “No. Who the hell are you?”

He has the nerve to look offended, but the smile returns almost instantly. “Edward. Nygma. And as I said, I know you.”

“Good. Then you’re exactly the person I need to find.”

“Oh? What could I do for the great underground detective?”

“Mister Nygma,”

“Please, call me Ed!” his eyes are still shining and focused on Isabella.

“Tom Dougherty, I believe you sent a letter to miss Kringle on his behalf.” That gets Ed’s attention back to Oswald, his smile now vanished.

“He was a violent person, who did not deserve her!”

“Was? Am I to assume he’s not among the living any more? See, you left her the initials of yourself, not very clever.”

“Aah. I am so glad you know, it is such a relief. You see, I’ve been dying to tell someone, it’s crawling inside of me.” Ed is now face to face with him, intensity back in the air, chilling the skin.

“What?” he takes a breath with the word.

“I, I need guidance. Mister Penguin, I know, I know you’re not just a detective, I know you’re this close to taking over Gotham. You are inspirational!”

“Mister Nygma, I advise you to stay away from miss Kringle. Goodbye,” he turns and walks out of the back door.

 

*

 

That damn man, thinking he knows everything!

The door swings behind him. “You don’t want to make me your enemy, _Ed!_ ” he presses out before almost turning. The pain sears through his chest as a knife is twisted inside of him. Red, red, red and a hint of green is all he sees before the world swirls away from him.

 

 

_Do you believe in_ _D_ _estiny or are you merely testing me?_ _Over and over again I keep imagining…_

 

The music is swallowing him. The voice now lower, closer, not as refined, but happier. He blinks his eyes and tries to get up. The pain is still there.

The music stops. “Oh. You’re awake! Tell me, mister Penguin, do you believe in destiny?”

It’s Ed, hands clasped in anticipation, eyes shining and excited.

“Where the hell am I?”

“My place! It’s good thing I found you, you might’ve bled to death on the streets.”

“Ugh,” he falls back on the pillows, “Victor?”

“Victor Zsasz? Should I let him know? I wasn’t sure who to trust so I kept it silent.”

“Why the hell are you so cheery?”

“Well, I’m not almost dead, for one. Here, drink this!”

The world swirls away again.

 

“So, you’ve killed two people? That’s sweet.” Adorable really how excited he is over that. “But not miss Kringle?”

“I could never kill Isabella. The music doesn’t flow without her.”

“Didn’t you just say love is a weakness?”

“Yes, but she also led me to you. Mister Penguin, I can’t express how grateful I am for your guidance.”

“Please, it’s not like I’m teaching you, you’re the one helping me on my rise to the top of the city. And please, call me Oswald.”

“Oswald,” the glee on his face, the name from his lips creates the same magical sparkle as when he first saw the man. Unexplainable, something that’s always been just slightly out of reach.

 

 

“I cannot be bought, but I can be stolen with one glance. I’m worthless to one but priceless to two.”

Perhaps the riddles aren’t so bad when they are  filled with so much love?

 

 

It happened without Ed realizing. This feeling growing inside of him. Couldn’t be love, that would’ve been weakness and yet...the smile on Oswald’s face when Ed could make him happy. The feeling of bliss as they hugged. That song always playing around them as if they were the destiny for each other.

 

_Am I still haunted… Haunted by the thought of you…_

 

Oswald’s voice, the way he made the words alive, more alive they’ve ever been, sensual and dark of lust. Singing to Ed’s piano, just the two of them. It came out before he could think twice.

“I cannot be bought, but I can be stolen with one glance. I’m worthless to one but priceless to two.”

“Love,” this time Oswald answered. Love. It made him happy.

“Yes. Love.”

The kiss was filled with the same energy he’d felt that night, sensing stranger’s eyes on himself. Over and over again.

 

_Over and over again I keep imagining…._

 


End file.
